Namo's Chosen
by lisa.ryanz1oh1
Summary: Young Harry Potter has always been unusual. So he wasn't very surprised when he was entered into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He certainly hadn't intended to die though, or to end up being resurrected after chatting with the Lord of Death. An OOC Harry, unusual time-skips, and a spare Dark Lord. Immortal!Powerful!Harry. No pairings.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

She was aware of him, he knew. The staccato thrum of her heart had a delicious effect on the vein in the slender, pale column of her throat. A delicate purple pulsing wildly beneath the white. She stood still, as still as a tree in the calm before the storm, aquiver with anticipation, but mindful of her situation.

He could smell her fear.

It was a delicate scent, faint under the natural fragrance that enveloped her like a cloud. It was a part of her, just like the golden aura that made her glow. There was no doubt that she was powerful and could possibly prove to be a formidable match for him. But not... at this moment.

Because at this moment she stood, glowing under the starlight, surrounded by the immobile forms of her court and personal guard, with her own powers bound within the circle formed by their bodies. They were not dead, no. But neither would they wake unless he willed it. And he, was having too much fun, just watching her breathe... softly, rapidly, like the beating of a hummingbird's heart... each shallow draw of precious air bringing a fresh flush of the palest pink to the exquisite features of her alluring face.

Endless moments passed, and the night sky began to grow lighter, suffused with a rosy hue that barely resembled the painted cheeks he was so enjoying the sight of. And as the light brightened, he all but felt her curiosity grow, a palpable physical thing, that she was apprehensive of, and yet, oddly, eagerly looked forward to.

Soon he would be revealed. He wasn't too worried about that. It was why he was here after all. Instead he wondered – vaguely, disinterestedly – what she would say. Not that it would make too much of a difference.

A smile twisted his lips briefly, flitting away with the thought. For all of life's nuisances in these past years, not to mention all of his life before then, this was where he felt at home. In a place he wasn't meant to be, in a time that wasn't his own, but with the power to make a difference.

It was enough. But the dawn was coming up now, lighting up the highest reaches of the forest, filtering down to the gloom under the eaves. For one brief moment he lifted his head to the light. When he looked down again, his green gaze caught her blue.

The clash of wills was inevitable. Short, powerful, as he expected. Still he waited. Patience would be rewarded, after all.


	2. A Brief Summary

**Well, I've begun with something new. It's an idea that's been rattling around my head for a while and I finally thought I should write it down. I am still sort of feeling my way through though, so the first few chapters are likely to be a bit short. Also, anyone expecting to read Elvish in this story will be disappointed, because I'm rubbish at it, so I'll be writing the Elves' speech in English. I hope you'll still give this story a chance despite that.**

 **Well, that's it for now. Here's the first chapter up, and I hope you like it. Do Read and Review!**

Chapter 1 – A Brief Summary

The tale begins as it usually does with a young hero, in pain and expectation, distrust and humiliation. One that continued for 11 long years before the lad was given a precious gift. A reprieve from his many hurts for 10 months out of 12, in a place that came from straight out of a fantasy book. And he took it, eagerly.

He was a bright boy, for all his circumstances, eager and willing to put in the time and the effort to better himself at whatever task he applied himself to. His chance came at the age of 5 when he was allowed to attend school 'like normal children'. The lack of opportunity at the school did not deter his bright spirit, though a mind gradually made cunning through the measured application of pain and punishment, found ways to ensure that his proficiency would never see the light of day.

Privately, he found employment with his neighbours, all of whom liked the quiet, hard-working lad, and did not fail to give him some form of payment in either cash or kind. Both he accepted with disarming humility, knowing the risk his benefactors took with each gift, but grateful all the same for each of them.

The money he deposited with a gentle grandmother whose granddaughter had but recently passed away, and who loved the boy for her sake. She helped him with his school work and baked him little treats, and kept safe for him everything he bought with his savings, particularly his books. The food he smuggled into his den of a cupboard, there to lie in wait until he was banished into its all-consuming darkness in malicious satisfaction.

And there, in the darkness of night, hidden from the world, he lived in silent secrecy, holding onto a secret that was all his own. For in the night, he was filled with power, he glowed with it. The boy was thankful that his relatives never saw him so late at night, because if they ever had, he'd have found himself out on the street – or dead – sooner than he could say 'Dursley'.

It had started when he was four, beginning from his chest and spreading gradually over his entire body, lasting for a good two hours. And when it had faded, all the beatings and bruises and he had received that day would be gone, leaving behind only a dull ache throughout his body that needed only a night's sleep to recover from. But natural or not, healing was a painful thing. Mending cuts and scars and bleeding gashes, not to mention the occasional rib or dislocated shoulder that was forcefully wrenched back into place. So even though all he wanted to do, was to scream as loud as a banshee, the boy bit his tongue and lay silently on his thin mattress, jerking in helpless pain, just waiting for the light to do its work and fade away. Then and only then could he remove his head from the confines of his thin pillow that he used to muffle any involuntary sounds he might have made, and drop into an exhausted sleep.

Until. . .

"BOY!"

It started all over again the next morning.

Of course, things had become a bit better ever since he'd begun going to the school his late parents had attended and at which he himself was now a student. He'd had his own room for four years now, and had a few friends. He had an owl and a snake for companions and a house-elf that was devoted to him. Add to that a cool sword soaked with Basilisk venom, and an unbeatable invisibility cloak, and he had all he needed to rule the world. Honestly, nobody really bothered about just how powerful house-elves truly were. But then, neither had he, once.

His years at school, on the other hand, had been a series of the most outlandish adventures, and ones that he hoped would never find their way into a Harry Potter collection of books. Not that he would see a Knut's worth of royalty from any of those proceeds even if they did. Anyway, that sword and Basilisk mentioned earlier? Truth. Didn't have to have happened to him, but wasn't it just convenient that he could speak to snakes?

Magical people in Britain were the worst sort of hypocrites, he decided.

He'd been a very different person back then; still wanting to give his new world a chance. That was until, at the end of his second year at school, he heard a conversation between the Headmaster and his hated Potions professor. The longer he stood there and eavesdropped, the less the conversation shocked him. What did shake his perception of the known was the role reversal of the arguing antagonists. In the face of Snape's obvious support of his person, there was little enough effort required to believe the worst of the bearded old man who sat at the head of Hogwarts.

When the drama of the evening had concluded with the unplanned but permanent acquisition of an over-eager and fanatically loyal house-elf from the enraged House of Malfoy, he'd made his way to the closest bathroom, showered and changed into clean clothes, and then proceeded into the depths of the dungeons.

The honest, blunt, no-holds-barred exchange that ensued, assured him of two realities. Snape's loyalty to him, and his own naiveté. Which he spent the next year in rectifying. He refused to be anyone's pawn, and certainly wouldn't stand for being bred to slaughter. With Snape's aid, he learnt much more about his new world, in terms of both magic and history, and his own place in it. On his first visit to the local village, he took advantage of a certain magical cloak, to visit Gringotts Bank, where he spent the day learning about his finances and family responsibilities. But the most important thing he accomplished, was to obtain his Heir Ring.

He'd been resigned to wait until his majority before making any bold moves for freedom, but the Fates had dropped the Tri-Wizard Tournament in his lap like a gift worth eleven years of pain and three years of manipulation. He still laughed at thinking about the stupidity of magical people.

The thing with ancient magical contracts was that a few hundred years down the line, almost no-one remembered how they operated or what consequences they inflicted for using them. The Wizarding World worked by the maxim: 'If it isn't broken, don't fix it'. Which meant that when the champions for the Tri-Wizard Tournament were chosen by a really old, glowing, fire-breathing goblet, not a single person so much as thought about how it worked, much less how detrimental it could be for those who were bound to it for the duration of the Tournament.

And then, of course, since Harry Hunting hadn't really stopped even at Hogwarts, somebody'd had the bright idea of entering him in the Tournament with a historically high death rate - like on one of those wild-card entries on reality t.v. shows - demonstrating once again, the unbelievable obsession the magical world has long held with the names 'Harry' and 'Potter', but especially when put together.

With the way his life had been progressing over the past 14 years, he should probably have expected something like it.

Anyway, once the deed was done, and having seen where the battle lines had been drawn amongst the Hogwarts student population, there was only one thing any reasonable person could have done. He went to the library to get some answers.

Of course, it wasn't like he expected the Hogwarts library to have any truly useful information. So he went where no-one had gone before. At least for several weeks. And a few centuries before that.

And sure enough, he hit the jackpot. No-one ever said that the Four Founders were the sole embodiment of the characteristics their houses were recognised by. Hufflepuffs were as brave as the Lions, while Slytherins were as intelligent as the Ravenclaws, and any other mix of characteristics one could think of. And the Library of Salazar Slytherin's Chamber was a treasure trove of knowledge long since forgotten.

Like the fact that the Goblet of Fire was a construct created by the magic-wielders of Merlin's time to keep the oaths of their retainers and servants, binding them and their loyalty to the house they served. Each family wealthy enough to have servants had their own small Goblet holding the Gubraithian Fire, but the one that had survived the ages to eventually be taken in intact by the Wizard's Council much before the International Statute of Secrecy in 1692, was The Brazier, the Goblet of Fire housed within the castle of King Arthur himself.

In the hands of the Department of Mysteries however – that was the only remnant of the old ways to exist within the new Ministry of Magic after it's creation in 1707 – The Brazier was experimented upon with the intent of destroying the enchantments of servitude, leaving a long and bloody (but secret) history in its wake, before some old retainer decided to leave it well enough alone. But by then, they had managed to tweak the spells on it enough to leave it holding the powers it was introduced with in Harry's fourth year.

Even then, it might have remained hidden away and eventually have become lost to obscurity, if, of course, some crackpot Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports hadn't decided that it would be the perfect vessel for binding the participants of a sport to a specific agreement of a specific duration, to ensure impartiality and fairness.

To encourage the idea that it was perfectly safe to bind one's magic to an undiscerning magical object for any length of time, a sub-clause was included in the games rules stating specifically that participants must be in their majority, and any participants entered and chosen by the impartial judge would by default be considered of-age.

Which brings the tale back to the Tri-Wizard Tournament in Hogwarts, when our brave but beleaguered young hero was thrown to the dragons (literally), at the behest of an inanimate, Everlasting Fire-holding object, with the intention of competing, and possibly even winning, the event. Whether the prize was the sack of 1000 Galleons, or one's life, was anybody's guess.

True to form, the hero trained himself and prepared for what was to come. He entered into the arenas and with a veni, vidi, vici, won and walked away from the first two tasks, creating ripples throughout the school and the British wizarding population at large, to whom the Tournament was being broadcast live through the Wizarding Wireless Network.

Having gained the respect of his fellow competitors, he ended up going to the Yule Ball with them; the three boys having chosen to escort their only female companion together. A more obvious and sportsmanlike show of solidarity there could not have been, and indeed it was unprecedented in the history of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The old Headmaster Graybeard knew who culprit was, but could do nothing in the face of the clear approval from the other officials.

The last event, however, didn't end quite the way the hero had expected. Indeed, no plans could have been made for this, despite knowing that the entire Tournament was some kind of vast ritual created for the Dark Lord, in which he, Harry, was the primary and most important ingredient. Of course, he had to be tempered before use, hence the game rigmarole. And now, with the help of a cowardly rat, Harry's blood and a flawless potion, Lord Voldemort had achieved a successful resurrection. Along with distinctly serpentine features as well as a reptilian agility.

In the duel that followed, Harry was outmatched. Defeated. Killed.

In the span of but a few minutes, the hope of the Wizarding World was no more.

In Dumbledore's office, a number of priceless artefacts exploded, waking several sleeping portraits and making many more scream at the top of their painted lungs.

The bright light that was Harry Potter, rose from the churned, abraded and bloodied mud of the earth, and drifted towards the light at the end of the tunnel, it's only subconscious objective being to reach the conclusion of it's story.

And it was here, in the place between death and the beyond, that Harry Potter met the Lord of Death.

 _"_ _Well met, Harry Potter. Do you fear Death?"_


	3. Second Rung of the Ladder

**Chapter 2 - Second Rung of the Ladder**

 _"_ _Well met, Harry Potter. Do you fear Death?"_

It was, Harry'd thought, a rather strange question to be asking a 14 year old. Then again, perhaps it was just his 'Harry Potter' luck. Surely nobody else had such vivid dreams about impossible things when they were knocked unconscious.

 _You seem to have hit your head rather hard on nothing to think I'm a figment of your overactive imagination, Mister Potter._

Harry agreed with his imaginary figment. Though he firmly believed it still was just a figment. What else would a tall, pale, stick-thin figure wearing coat-tails and carrying a dragon-head staff possibly be, after all!? Well, either that, or he was watching a very nonsensical play of some sort. But then, the Dursleys were never the sort to make the effort to go the theater, so that couldn't be it, he mused, one eye on his imagination, which seemed to look quite amused.

 _For being lyrically challenged, you do seem to have quite the sense of showmanship. You did quite well during this Tournament._

So that was it. This ... er, person ... must have been among the audience and at some point, Harry must have seen him and remembered this absurd appearance enough to turn it into some crazy apparition slash imaginary creation. Come to think of it, how had he been knocked out in the first place?

 _Finally, the right question._

Ignoring the strange presence in his head, Harry thought about his past year. He'd been participating in the Tri-Wizard Tournament and he could remember the first two tasks. Which made it probable that he'd been injured somehow in the third task and would therefore be in the hospital wing. Though none of Madame Pomfrey's treatments had ever made him hallucinate before.

 _Your internal monologue is mildly entertaining, but we don't have much time._

The cold, skeletal hand that touched his temple startled the young soul of the late Harry Potter, but it served to clear the fog of his thoughts and allowed him to focus on his most recent memories. It didn't take long.

"Voldemort killed me!"

 _Yes._

"I-I'm dead!"

 _As a doorpost._

"But how can I be dead?"

 _And clearly in shock._

Green eyes narrowed in anger. "Just who the hell are you?"

 _I'm Death. I'd have thought that was obvious. And please don't ask me about my robe and scythe. Because, seriously, that went out of fashion worlds ago. And just because I'm Death, doesn't mean I can't choose to dress well. Just because death is all about gloom and doom to you people, doesn't mean its all gloom and doom to me. This is after all my party. However, I can't really have you here quite this soon. So..._

And while Soul-Harry just sort of floated there, mouth agape and a bit amused at the sight of Death ranting, the entity reached out and grasped him about the neck, immobilizing him while he thrust his fingers right into the lad's scar. Harry screamed in pain; his head felt like it was being split open, and technically that couldn't even happen anymore. Even with his high pain tolerance, this was something beyond the farthest reaches of his pain threshold. And so he fought to free himself of the pain and of the vice he was bound by. But Death paid him not a whit of attention. Then another high-pitched scream could be heard, and it seemed to be coming from Harry's head. This shocked the boy so much that he stopped his wild thrashing; though his face was creased with pain and he couldn't stop twitching.

In that moment, Death pulled out his hand from the scar and with a loud ripping sound, something black, oily and dripping tar came into view. Harry shrank away from it, looking at it with disgust as Death held it between thumb and forefinger, away from his clothes.

"What is that thing?! And how did you pull it from my scar?"

 _That is a part of Voldemort's soul, child. It was embedded in you when you defeated him as a babe. Your people call this thing a Horcrux and it means that the owner of the soul is still anchored to the living world. Without the complete soul to cross over, no being can die._

"So that thing is the reason why Voldemort came back to life just now?"

 _Yes, and no._

"Huh?"

 _Eloquent. He has many more of these Horcruxes and used just one of them to be resurrected in the graveyard. Another you vanquished when you 'killed' the diary in your second year._

The young soul digested this new information for a few seconds. "Okay, but can I move on now? That thing is out of me, and I'm nice and dead and ready to meet my family."

 _Sadly, no._ And the being actually did look regretful. _As you are the child of prophecy, you must help me to collect all the Soul Shards of this Voldemort character, whose real name, incidentally is Tom Riddle, and send them on to me. Then you will be free._

Harry was silent for a long while. Or what may have been a long while. Time has no meaning in the afterlife. "What prophecy do you mean?" he asked eventually.

Death looked distinctly unamused. _A child of prophecy not knowing his own prophecy! The world has changed indeed. Very well, since I cannot send you back ignorant of your fate, I shall tell you._

And so followed another recitation of the prophecy that altered the destinies of a young boy's life forever. Not to mention, landed him the unenviable position and responsibilities of being Death's very own sniffer dog, rooting out Voldemort's Horcruxes to stab with an envenomed sword and post off to Death. But the story's getting ahead of itself.

Considering that Voldemort had just offed me in the graveyard, coming back to life would just make everyone scream to the high heavens. Instead, Death told me, he'd placed my body into a state of deep stasis, and that when my soul was refitted in it, my magic would be able to determine when it felt safe to wake my body up again. And since the loss of the soul-shard meant that I could finally use all of my own magic, though I could no longer speak to snakes – which really is a pretty neat skill – Death gave me a few gifts.

First he tilted my head back, had me open my mouth and then blew into it. Strangely enough, it tasted leafy, like fresh grass or mint. While I was shaking my head through that weirdness, he plunged his cold, skeletal hands right into my chest, fiddling around with something. Having felt those hands in my head not moments ago, this left me feeling rather numb. I tried asking what he was doing, but the entity just told me to enjoy his gift when the time came. Well, I know now that Death has a really sick sense of humour.

The next gift came in the form of a head tap. Switching on what inherently should have been mine, he said. After that, he produced a pair of blades from his coat pockets, black as the mad, swirling pools of his eyes, and bright as a moonless midnight sky.

 _These are on loan. Together they are your strongest offense and defense. They will become whatever you need, and you can never lose them. In the end, bring Voldemort down with these and he will never rise again._

"You know, I haven't even agreed to do any of this."

 _No, you haven't. But you will do it. Goodbye Harry Potter. May you have a good life._

Yeah, Death has a twisted sense of humour.

But back to the story. I was abruptly shunted back into my body, my soul surrounded by living flesh and blood. Almost immediately, my senses were assaulted by scents and sounds. I was thankful my eyes were still closed.

I took a breath.

The sounds around me descended into silence. Then it erupted into pandemonium.

"Harry!" "I saw him breathe!" "He's awake!" "He's alive!" "Harry! Can you hear us?"

And then a new voice. Sharp, strident, concerned. "Get back at once, all of you. Do you want to smother him before he's even had a chance to breathe properly? Out at once, I say. And not one of you is to come back in until I say so. Now, OUT!"

Thank Merlin for Madame Pomfrey.

And suddenly she was right beside him. "Now, Mr. Potter. Right mess this is, and none of your own making either, this time. Press my hand if you can hear me." He lightly pressed the calloused hand that was holding his own and heard the gusty sigh.

"That is good to know, Mr. Potter. Now I'm going to cast a diagnostic charm." He felt a swirl of magic pass through him and the Medi-witch hummed. "Your vitals look good. Much better than the soulless shell you were registering as earlier. Your magic also seems to be returning and rebuilding at a steady rate. All good signs."

She came closer to him and took hold of his upper arm. "I'm going to cast a mild levitation charm on you now, and help you sit up. You do need to eat something."

Levitating him slightly, the Medi-witch helped him sit upright him the bed, and made him comfy with a nest of pillows. Then she called a house-elf to bring some broth, which she proceeded to feed him herself. Once he had finished, she dimmed the lights, set the wireless set on his bedside table and tuned it to a station with light music, before retreating to her office for a drink.

It had been a rough week, waiting to see if there was any change in the still form of the young lad who'd been sent back after the final Tri-Wizard task, singed with spell-fire, pale and unmoving, clutching the Tri-Wizard trophy in one hand and his wand in the other. Everyone had thought he was dead, but Dumbledore, though bowed with grief, had seen that the body was surrounded by a powerful stasis charm. So he'd called for Madam Pomfrey and had Harry's immobile form moved to the Infirmary.

And now, finally, that gentle soul, the school Healer, could rest.

In his bed, Harry took his time opening his eyes, getting them used to light and stimulus again. That was until a heavy object landed in his lap, startling his eyes open. Almost immediately, however, and with unerring accuracy, a pair of bright green orbs settled on a familiar shape, just as he was forced to raise his arms to catch an armful of hysterically sobbing house-elf.

"Master Harry is back! Master has returned! Dobby is so sorry Master! Dobby could not go to you when you were taken away by nasty shiny cup. Dobby has let down Master and Dobby will punish himself! But Dobby is so happy that Master has come back!"

Harry patted the distraught elf lightly on his back, letting the poor fellow cry himself out, until eventually, Dobby gradually fell silent. Shifting slightly, Harry saw that the elf was asleep, and tucked him into bed under the covers. It was only when he turned to the bedside table where Madam Pomfrey always kept his glasses that he realised that his vision was perfectly clear without them.

Hurrying to the Infirmary bathrooms, careful not to be too loud, he made a beeline for the closest mirror, where he received a shock.

Not only was his vision fixed, but he'd gained both height and weight, along with a natural, healthy colour in his skin. His hair was longer now though and the weight settled what used to pass for a bird's nest on the top of his head. So far so good.

Though he did wonder what other 'gifts' Death had given him.

Oh yeah, he was now the Boy-Who-Lived-to-see-Death-and-land-an-insane-job-hunting-Horcruxes! The work was dangerous but promised exotic travel locales and huge benefits, like living to see his 100th birthday if he was successful. It apparently also came with the side-effects of being as healthy as a horse, getting 20/20 vision, and growing to a decent height. It was better than he'd imagined. Though he hadn't yet seen the fine print.

Harry made his way out to his bed, looking around at how everything seemed so much better to his enhanced sight. Colours and shapes were sharper and it seemed like his other senses had gained a boost as well. He couldn't wait to test his limits, but thought it better to remain safely here for the time being. He really didn't want to face the crowd that was no doubt waiting right outside the Infirmary doors.

When he bumped into something, he looked down at the bed to see Dobby sleeping. But he now noticed something he hadn't before; there was a missive clutched in the elf's bony hand. Slowly and carefully, Harry twisted and drew the parchment free to find himself looking at a letter from Gringotts. Wondering which part of his insane luck was acting up now, he opened it.

 _Mr. Potter,_

 _As an esteemed Vault Holder, we find it incumbent upon ourselves to inform you of your new status as an adult in the magical world since your entry and acceptance into the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year._

 _As such, you are now eligible to take up the Lordship of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter at your earliest opportunity. We have also been approached by Sirius Black for a ritual involving yourself. There are additionally, several other matters of an urgent nature that we wish you discuss with you._

 _Should you wish to arrive immediately, this letter will act as a portkey and bring you to the offices of Senior Teller Griphook, who will escort you further. The activation password is 'Maturity'._

 _We look forward to further collaborations of a mutually beneficial nature._

 _May your gold grow and your path prove victorious._

 _Shatterbone._

 _Potter Accounts Manager._

 _Ragnok._

 _Chairman of Gringotts._

There wasn't really a choice. A second later the Infirmary was void of any human presence while a house-elf slumbered on, an unnoticed smile on his face.


	4. Back to the Future

**Chapter 4 - Back to the Future**

 **There are a few points that I would like to clarify from the reviews and comments I've received.**

 **One, that the break in the point of view in the previous chapter comes when Harry's position shifts from being for the self to for the others as a matter of recognition. It was deliberately done.**

 **Two, that I do agree that narration is a good method of providing background information but that it can be used injudiciously. To help prevent that, I'd like to ask** lexisis **to let me know if at any point I need to revise the material in any specific way. If it can be done, I will try.**

 **Hope you like this next chapter. Do Read and Review!**

* * *

Blood-spattered, rain-soaked, mud-caked, long dark plait still twitching with that lethal, dark, trident-like blade embedded in it, Harry Potter hovered high above the Black lake in a bubble of powerful magic, watching his once-dreaded foe choke into the waiting arms of Death before him.

Riddle's serpentine features were twisted into a grimace and a snarl and a faint hint of surprise, making him look oddly like a young dragon that was learning that it could do more than just rasp and hiss. On his knees before the young man who had fulfilled the prophecy he was born into, with his life-blood leaving his body, the Dark Lord still refused to look defeated. But even as he glared with an insistent defiance into those calm Avada-green eyes, he felt a new emotion arise within him.

Shame.

The Dark Lord felt shame.

And just a small bit of remorse.

And he knew, that his most hated enemy could read those feelings from his shattered mind, his once-fearsome Occlumency shields now long crushed.

And still his fingers grew red with the blood he had long ago taken from his enemy.

"Tom." A voice was calling him. . . . . "Tom."

He had not realised his head had fallen, as had he, now held up only by a single shoulder supported by this sphere of magic, a translucent shimmering orb of power . . . . . such beautiful magic.

His mind flashed back to a time when he had loved magic, his innate control over his power helping him to create such wonderful displays that were fascinating to his innocent wonder. Until there came those who feared him and hated his abilities and destroyed his innocence, until all he knew was to hurt those who had hurt him, and revenge took the place of joy.

"Tom..."

He wished he could have been called Thomas, so much more elegant than simple Tom. But he had been simple then. And now he was Voldemort. And soon he would be dead.

A sudden terror seized him and his head shot up just as a hand grasped his shoulder, and he focused long enough to see his enemy crouched before him, those green eyes searching his own with something like concern.

A laugh bubbled up through the blood in his throat. Spilling in bright crimson over his lips.

"Tom!"

On a whim, gasping to draw breath, he replied, "Yes?"

Green eyes flickered over his face for a long moment before pale lips moved, saying impossible things. "I forgive you, and wish you peace."

Shock flooded the dimming red eyes, giving way gradually to a gentle smile and then Tom Riddle closed his eyes.

"Go to your rest, Tom. Your mother is waiting for you there."

And those were the last words a broken, vengeful, man heard before Death took the last piece of his soul to his final abode.

And the armies that had formed the Defenders of Hogwarts burst into thankful, relived cheers at the passing of the most feared Dark Lord of their age.

Magical humans and creatures alike, watched the orb of magic descend as avidly as they had watched the projected images of the final moments of the Dark Lord Voldemort on this Earth, courtesy the house-elves of the castle. The little beings had combined their magic and abilities with the ideas and devices of the Weasley Twins and the Marauders, to create a sort of War Room or Command Room, within the castle. Key information was transmitted here by the elves and just as swiftly delivered to the troops on the battlefield by the same method.

Also, thanks to Parvati and Lavender's advice, a number of Seeing Crystals had been installed all over the grounds as well as within the castle proper, and strongly Disillusioned. These Crystals, linked with a variation of House-elf magic, relayed images with sound onto a few special viewing screens in the Command Room. When it became apparent that the War would only end decisively when Voldemort and Harry took the stage, those screens were transported out onto the ground and enlarged for everyone to watch the mind-numbing skill being displayed by the duo.

And so it was that the fiercest, most awe-inspiring, and magic-defying clash of unbridled power took place before the bastion of the Free Magical Species of Britain. Brought now to a final end by their young Champion, whom Death itself didn't seem to want to accept.

The centaurs, werewolves and house-elves took immediate steps to ensure that their enemies would not escape justice that day. Though a few did manage to disappear, a vast majority of the Death Eaters, giants, trolls, and hostile werewolves were captured, while the unicorns were keeping the few Dementors tightly corralled, away from the humans.

Friend and foe alike watched the progress of the descending orb. Within, unseen by all, the black sais morphed back into a familiar pair of blades so long ago gifted to the young boy who had now fulfilled his destiny. It had been ten long years since that day.

When the orb touched down on the shores of the Black Lake, those closest to Harry ran towards him. But the magic did not dissipate. Instead the orb unfolded, and flung itself out towards the farthest reaches of approachable space along the lake's shore, creating a wall of unbreachable energy between Harry and the body of Tom Riddle, and everyone else.

"Harry? Harry, what's the matter? You're safe now. Everyone's safe, thanks to you. You've done it!"

"Yes, Hermione. I know. But I also know that this peace is not for me."

Sirius came to a skidding stop before the barrier. "What are you talking about, kiddo? This is your time now. Everyone will want to thank you for ridding the world of Riddle. You're free of him forever."

Harry smiled sadly as he looked at his godfather. "Am I really, Sirius?"

His friends and family had gathered close to the barrier by now, each listening to his words in disbelief and a growing sense of uneasiness.

"All I want is peace. It's all I've ever wanted. But there's no way that the Ministry of Magic will just let me be, and neither will the rest of Magical Britain. I don't want to be celebrated; I just want to be left alone. Don't you see?"

Understanding dawned and his friends dropped their eyes in sorrow. The adults were not so accepting. "Harry please!" Remus pleaded, his voice rough and choked with tears. "You're all we have left."

"And you will never lose me, Remus. But you will have to let me go. At least for a while."

Harry smiled at them all, nodding at the Weasley Twins and a few others, before turning around and walking to the lake. Wading into the shallows, he raised his arms, moving just his hands in complicated patterns that not even Bill could completely understand. A ball of light formed, twisting in mid-air, until at a sharp gesture from the raven haired wizard, it shot deep into the waters below.

The crowd held its breath.

About five minutes later, the water in the center of the Lake began to bubble and froth, indicating the approach of something big. Seconds later, the surface of the water was breached by a phalanx of Warrior Mermen, who were swimming to shore in formation around something long and dark.

"Tom Riddle was a child of Hogwarts. A child who loved this school and all that it stands for. Who saw her walls as a place of memory and her warmth as a place of refuge. A refuge that was ultimately not granted to him. He was betrayed many times over by some whom he trusted, but in the end he repented. And for that, he has gained a chance to be near the one place that brought him true happiness."

Turning, Harry called Riddle's body to him, cleaning him of all blood and mud and the signs of battle. He clad him in Slytherin robes, and placed him into the long box that the Mermen had brought to the shore. Only now did everyone see that it was a sarcophagus. Harry covered it with the heavy lid and activated its enchantments.

"I know you will not accept this. And you should rightly be cautious. But be cautious of the right things and not what the bigotry of our society has taught you for so many years. Had the Wizarding World been a kinder place, neither I nor Tom would be the people we are now. Therefore, I offer Tom Riddle a chance for peace in Death. I have prepared this tomb for him, unbreachable, from both without and within. Bound with many spells and enchantments of my own making, and given to the care of the Warriors of the Black lake. They will keep watch over the Tomb of Tom Riddle until the end of days and peace will be kept by us all."

He ran a hand over the rough black stone one last time, then stepped back and nodded to the Merman Chieftain. They clasped hands once and then the Mermen drew their cargo out to the centre of the Lake before descending into its uncharted depths. And that was the last anyone would ever see of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry waded out to dry land and dried himself with magic. "Please do warn future generations and treasure seekers not to go looking for Tom. It cannot be done by anyone except myself and the Mermen's tridents are quite sharp. Not to mention entering their territory would be trespassing. Hermione, Neville, Sirius, do make sure to have a law passed to that effect soon."

Magic shimmered around his left hand until it coalesced into a familiar dark blade. No-one knew how Harry had come by them, just that they could neither be touched nor wielded by anyone else. With a snap of his fingers, he conjured a host of lilies. Several bouquets went to Molly Weasley, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Sirius and Remus, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Susan Bones, Parvati and Lavender, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, the Greengrass sisters, and so many more of his friends.

The rest he blew away with a magical breeze, scattering the delicate white blooms across the grounds of Hogwarts. And those who were near where they fell, saw that the moment a single lily touched the ground, the land was cleansed. Across the place that Harry considered his home, the lilies spread the power of his magic, gently taking away the taint of war, leaving only the promise of renewal.

"So long as those lilies bloom, you will know I am alive and safe," the young wizard told his friends. "But now, its time for me to go."

"Harry!" Sirius called desperately. "Will we see you again?"

"Keep a weather eye open, Padfoot," replied a laughing Harry.

Then he raised his arm, swept the blade in a circle through the air above his head, and with a whistling sound drew it sharply down. With a tearing sound, the fabric of reality was rent by Death's gifts, and through that opening came a sweet song, lilting and uplifting, filled with a lasting peace. From across the barrier, his family caught a glimpse of a green land, fair and endless, covered by a blanket of star-like white flowers and tall golden trees. And they finally began to understand why Harry wanted to leave.

The man looked around at his family and smiled at the softness in their eyes. "Well, this is my stop. Though I'm not going alone."

With a loud CRACK! Dobby appeared with Fawkes and Hedwig balanced on either arm. "Master Harry not be going alone. Master Harry be going with Friends."

"Minerva, Filius, remake our Hogwarts as she should be. Remus, keep Sirius in line. Hermione, Neville, I wish you all the happiness in the world. Severus, Draco, help and guide the children. Molly, give your love to all those little ones who need it. Fred and George, keep making the world laugh. I leave you with my blessings, and good wishes and a letter and gifts which you will find in your rooms. And though I solemnly swear to be up to no good, for now, Mischief Managed."

With a nod, Harry, Dobby, Hedwig and Fawkes disappeared through the portal which closed seamlessly behind them.

* * *

 **I have a feeling that there is something missing in this chapter, but I can't figure out what it is. However, what I wanted for this chapter is here, so I am satisfied. Hope you all like it too. Thank you for reading.**


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